


scars and glitter

by lokidreamsinbw



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Incest, Loki is 16, M/M, belt whipping, cupcakes and black skates, figure skater loki, figure skating AU, loki adores thor, loki follows his dream, loki looking gorgeous with glitter in his hair, loki's brave, my heart, odin is horrible, odin you couldn't break loki, sweet thorki, thor gets loki his first skates, thor helps loki's dream come true, thor is 22, thor taking care of his little brother, thor's there to make sure he's okay, writing this gave me too many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokidreamsinbw/pseuds/lokidreamsinbw
Summary: while they’re staying at the family’s vacation home one winter, Thor takes Loki to the lake where Loki discovers his passion for the ice





	scars and glitter

**Author's Note:**

> I know Loki started skating really late but dreams are ageless!
> 
> This fic is for the amazing thorduna!

Breaking the window, Loki doesn’t do it on purpose.

It’s supposed to go in the kitchen; replace the old one Odin keeps insisting is cracked. It isn’t.

It happens at their summer vacation house. The three of them: Odin, and his two sons Thor and Loki come here every year, once during the summer and once during the winter. Odin is obsessed with it, wants it to be in tip-top shape all the time.

Odin and Loki got there the day before. Odin planned on replacing the window Tuesday. Meanwhile he keeps it out in the yard next to the tool shed. It’s standing there, propped against the outer wall of the house, catching the light.

Loki is just passing by. He’s walking with his head down. He’s got his earphones in.

He rounds the corner.

His foot catches on the edge of the window and he stumbles, goes down with it.

The glass shattering sounds like an explosion of light.

Odin rushes outside.

He isn’t scared or worried. He’s mad. Seeing his sixteen year old son lying in a sea of shards looking confused, earphones all tangled up in the front of his shirt and his jacket’s collar, it infuriates him.

Odin whips Loki with his belt. Leather cutting into thin skin. On his knees, shaking palms pressed to the tool shed’s brick-colored wall.

Six welts on Loki’s back.

Some of the welts open up like flowers at sunrise. They bleed and the discarded earphones keep playing faintly. A song about broken spirits.

Thor gets there three hours later. Loki hears the car pulling into the driveway.

“Said you’d be here at 8,” Loki hears Odin saying, “it’s not even 2 yet.”

Thor pops open the trunk. Seems weird but Loki swears he can hear the _swish-swish_ of the duffle bags brushing against Thor’s jacket as he piles them onto his shoulder.

Thor’s six years older than Loki. He doesn’t live with them anymore but comes to see Loki every few days. Neighboring cities.

“Yeah.”

Thor’s rubbing his palms together. The sound sends shivers down Loki’s spine.

It’s freezing out there. Snowed a little this morning.

Loki shifts his weight on the bed. The curtains are drawn and when he looks up at the window the whites of his eyes seem to glow. He’s lying on his side. Wrists tucked under his chin.

“Wanted to get here early.”

A flash of light catches Loki’s eye. A small shard snagged on the sheet.

Loki pushes it off the bed with his knee. Smoothes the sheet over with his foot.

“Where’s Loki?”

Loki blinks at the semi-darkness. Rubs his cheek against his knuckles.

“Up in his room.”

“Bored outta his mind, huh?”

Loki pulls his knees close to his chest. The stretching, it makes his back pulsate like a second, giant heart. He bites his lip hard.

Odin doesn’t say anything. Thor doesn’t say anything either. It’s a Thor thing: when people go quiet he goes quiet too. He’s really mindful of silence, knows when people feel like talking to him is a waste of time.

More shuffling around—Odin trying the front door, turning and turning the knob, not liking the way it sounds probably, or maybe it doesn’t turn smoothly enough for his liking.

A set of lovely sounds:

Thor slamming the trunk shut.

Boots squishing soft snow.

Car keys jangling.

Then Thor’s warm voice in the cold.

“Gonna go and check on him.”

Then it’s not just Loki alone in the house anymore.

Thor’s footfalls, like slow heartbeats, as he’s setting his bags at the foot of the stairs.

Loki presses the side of his forehead into the pillow. His eyes search the nightstand devoid of any expression. He left his phone by the tool shed.

There’s Thor going up the stairs, then—

“Hey.”

Loki blinks and his lashes brush against the pillowcase audibly, sounds like a torrent of rain.

“Whatcha doing in there.”

Thor walks in.

He smells like December.

“What’s with the curtains?”

Thor’s eyes on him.

The room looks too tiny for him. Like trying to squeeze the sun into the opening of a bead.

Loki shrugs and regrets it straight away. The pull on the welts feels like the sizzle you get when you let a drop of water into a hot frying pan.

“You trying to summon the dead or something.”

Thor opens the curtains. Afternoon skies you can actually look at, not too bright.

The sound of Odin still trying the front door. Something’s always broken in his mind.

Thor peeks out.

“Texted you.”

Outside the tool shed, the screen of Loki’s phone flashes with no eyes to see it happening. The battery is dying.

“You didn’t text me back.”

Loki pulls a hand out and rubs just under his eye with his forefinger, “yeah.”

Tucks his hand back under his chin, “sorry.”

Thor turns and looks around, expression neutral at first, then confused.

“Where’s your phone?”

“How long are you staying for.”

Absentmindedly, “a week.”

Then again, “where’s your phone?”

“Dunno.”

Thor sits down on the edge of the bed, Loki scoots back a bit so he’ll have more room to sit.

Loki loves having Thor around.

That look. Thor trying to see inside Loki’s heart.

“You okay?”

“Just bored.”

Loki tucks his cold hand into Thor’s jacket pocket.

Thor smiles and moves closer.

_Crunch!_

Thor winces at the unexpected sound and the gritty texture under his boot. Lifts his foot off the carpet and a little to the right.

Loki already knows what it is. Thor stepped on the shard and smashed it.

“Wanna go to the lake in a bit?” Thor asks, distracted, picking up a tiny shiny piece of glass, looking confused cause how did it get there exactly.

“It’s so cold,” he finishes, “the lake must have frozen over.”

“Okay,” Loki says quietly.

 

When they go downstairs they see the front door is wide open. Odin’s toolbox is on the floor. A red-handled screwdriver on the mat.

The door handle Is missing.

Thor and Loki exchange looks cause Thor notices it too.

Thor smirks and moves his finger in circles against his temple, giving out a small high-pitched whistle.

Loki, holding on to the ends of his unzipped jacket (inner fake fur lining), smiles.

Thor looks around quickly. Just to make sure they’re alone.

Then, close to Loki’s ear, “the whole thing with the fixing stuff that don’t need fixing, it’s kinda crazy.”

Loki nods a little.

When they get to the door Loki passes his scratched fingers through the hole where the silver handle used to be.

“Sometimes he breaks things and never fixes them,” Loki says.

 

They pass by the tool shed on their way to the windy grove. Odin’s inside the shed. The musty shadows bit off huge chunks of his body and only his left shoulder, earlobe and some of his forehead are visible.

He’s looking for something on one of the shelves.

There’s plenty of lazy afternoon light everywhere. Loki can’t spot any broken glass on the ground. Can’t spot his phone either.

Odin shifts to the left.

The light glides over Odin’s belt, fastened tight around his waist.

 

Loki and Thor go by unnoticed. Both see Odin there but don’t say anything. Not a _we’re going to the lake,_ or a _be right back_. They move up the path, trying to keep the noise their shoes make to a minimum. Neither of them looks back.

There’s an empty can of green paint toppled over by one of the trees. It’s got bits of ice on it, dense snow powder dusting the rim.

Loki turns his head to look when they pass it by.

What did Odin use it for? There isn’t a spot of green anywhere inside the house or out.

A fleeting thought: maybe it was for the treetops. Something only a kid could come up with.

Trees to the right, trees to the left, branches splitting everywhere like overgrown milky tendrils, golden leaves hanging off them like scattered coins. The wind rushing under Loki’s arms lifting up the ends of his jacket. Thor’s eyes on him—it’s something you feel.

“Dad’s getting old,” Thor says. His voice comes from the left like a ray of sun flashing between trees.

Loki keeps his head down.

“Each time I see him,” Thor looks straight ahead, pensive, “he looks different. It’s like shadows on a sidewalk, the pattern is never the same.”

“You don’t see him that much,” Loki says and the sound of his voice startles him—it’s the first thing he’s said in the last fifteen minutes.

Thor looks at him, raises his brows.

Loki keeps his eyes low, fixes them on Thor’s shoulder, “when you come to see me, he’s usually not around.”

“Ah. Yeah, I try.”

This time Loki meets Thor’s eyes, caught off guard, “to avoid him?”

“Uh-huh.”

Thor nods a little, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.

“He’s hard to get along with,” he says, eyes searching the wintry horizon, “we don’t really see eye to eye.”

Thor moved out when he turned nineteen. Loki wasn’t there that day. He got on a bus at 8 when Thor was still sleeping. Stayed out the whole day, walked all around town till his feet hurt really bad. When he got back, Thor was already gone. He stayed for as long as he could thinking Loki will come back, but Loki didn’t and Thor had to go. Loki spent the night sleeping on the floor in Thor’s empty room.

“I have a room ready for you.”

Thor’s fingers moving along the back of Loki’s neck. They’re warm and they’re toying with the chain Loki has on. Loki kept it after their mom passed away.

Thor rubs the clasp between finger and thumb.

Loki presses a hand to the center of his chest, trapping the bird pendant under his skinny palm, holds it in place like it can just fly away.

“The one you can see the park from?” he asks Thor.

Loki’s been to Thor’s apartment a few times. The walls there are the color of ripe peaches and you can sit wherever you want, blast music, dance, read out on the balcony sitting on the banister swinging your legs around. When he’s visiting, he always stays in the room facing the park.

“Yep.”

Thor tugs on the chain a little, freeing a bit of it from under Loki’s shirt. Then he lets go and feels for the outline of the pendant through the fabric next to Loki’s fingers.

“It’s good you kept it,” Thor says, “I would have managed to lose it by now.”

Loki shakes his head.

“I never take it off,” he says.

They walk in silence for a while.

“Just two more years,” Thor says.

Loki searches his eyes, hopeful, “you really want me to move in with you?”

The look Thor gives him tells Loki everything he needs to know.

 

The lake is surrounded by trees.

It’s a circular body of water. Pointy fir trees really tall all around it. It looks like a crown—the lake is its body, the firs are its points.

The cold hits Loki in waves. One after the other. 20 seconds interval.

Each wave passes through him like a drove of ghostly horses.

When it’s getting ready to approach him, Loki can feel it. There’s this great silence descending over everything all of a sudden, a mind-numbing stillness. The world loses all its sounds. Mute, it waits.

Then it rushes forward, gaining speed and strength. It runs, it races. Cold. Colder. So cold it burns.

It lounges at him and the impact is an icy explosion right in the center of his chest, right in his heart, and the blast shoots icicles into his veins.

Then it passes. Goes on to move through trees and hills and caves of lead-colored stone.

More silence follows.

Thor comes to stand at Loki’s side under a canopy of skeletal branches.

His smile is beautiful. His lashes are the color of sunflower petals. The collar of his bomber jacket upturned. He looks like a movie star.

“Missed this place,” he says, nostalgic and soft.

Loki digs his heels in and looks around. If you glimpse this place for just a second, you can mistake it for a painting. Look for longer and you’ll spot the trees sprinkling snow dust over the ground; the clouds inching across the afternoon sky; naked branches shaking in the wind.

“We were happy here,” Loki adds quietly.

He likes to believe that at night, the trees shake out of themselves sounds they’ve heard before and stored, so the night won’t feel so lonely and so it’ll pass quickly: the sounds of lizards scuttling through the dry grass, falling rain (tainted pink with sunset colors), the sound of his mother’s laugh.

Thor brushes some snow away from a fallen tree. Loki watches Thor’s fingers turn from pale to raw-red. And the sound of it, like combing a hand through your hair.

They move to sit.

Thor does so carelessly and starts rubbing his palms together straight away. Loki does it slowly, trying not to wince.

Loki shoves his hands inside his jacket pockets and presses his knees together.

Thor does the same.

Then he bumps Loki lightly with his shoulder.

Loki doesn’t smile.

Thor scoots closer till their knees touch. Tilts his head to study his little brother’s face.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Loki avoids Thor’s eyes. Watches the lake in silence.

Thor lowers his head when he realizes Loki’s staying quiet for a while, shifts some snow around with the toe of his boot.

When the light changes, Loki stands up.

He walks up to the lake. Stares down at it.

The ice looks blue-grey.

He takes a tentative step forward.

Shifting behind him, Thor jumping to his feet.

“Hey, now.”

Another step.

“Loki, don’t.”

Another and he’s gliding across the ice, calf muscles all tensed up so he won’t lose his balance.

The wind pushes his hair back from his forehead and temples, gets all up his nose and down his throat, under the front of his shirt.

Loki takes another step. Pushes.

Weightless again, balancing on his left leg.

His heart races inside his chest and he breaks into a lovely smile. Because now, _he’s_ the cold charging forward, _he’s_ the ghostly horse galloping wildly about to disappear into the wind.

Loki spins in a circle.

A blur of firs, grey skies, muddy hills, a flash of Thor’s eyes.

His head spins and the bird pendant pops out from under his shirt. The momentum makes her fly. She moves like a shooting star, orbiting around Loki’s neck.

Free.

At some point Loki loses his jacket.

He skates and skates till the ice cracks—long white zigzagging lines like lightning bolts. Like a glass that’s about to shatter.

It cracks and cracks, but it doesn’t break.

The light changes and the welts on Loki’s back open up.

He smiles.

Blood on the back of his shirt for Thor to see.

Blood on the ice, seeping into the cracks, tainting the sleeping water red.

* * *

Loki can’t afford it, so Thor offers to buy the skates for him.

The store is kinda small.

One of those afternoons when it’s cloudy and sunny at the same time.

It smells like leather and plastic in there.

Thor’s carrying his own bag and Loki’s.

He’d just picked Loki up from school, drove them straight to the store.

Figure skating is all Loki’s been talking about for the past two weeks. He’s been planning on getting a part time job for a few months so he could buy a pair of skates to practice with.

Thor said he’ll buy ‘em for him, help pay for the lessons too.

He got a giant hug from Loki, arms around his neck, the sides of their faces pressed together. When Loki pulled back, his lashes were wet and clumped together, his hand on his chest holding the bird pendant close.

Loki’s already there by the area where the ice skates are on display. He’s so happy it makes Thor’s heart feel warm.

Loki’s wearing a black see through shirt.

Thor stops to stand just behind Loki’s left shoulder.

Loki looks back at him, biting the side of his lip, trying to keep his smile in.

“They’re all gorgeous!” he says, then turns back to look at the skates.

He shakes his head and his wet hair bounces around a little, catching the light, looking a little blue.

“I’m having a skates crisis here,” he says but sounds far from worried.

Thor smiles a little. His eyes keep drifting down to Loki’s back.

One of the welts left a long raised scar. It’s pushing against the sheer fabric. It’s hard to look at.

Thor hitches the bags higher up his shoulder, tears his gaze away from the scar to look at the large variety of skates they’ve got there.

“What color you want?”

The blades, they all reflect the neon light. When you approach the shop, all of them glinting together it looks like skyscraper windows on a blazing hot summer day.

Loki shakes his head cause it’s impossible for him to decide. He tugs on the long sleeve of his shirt, pressing his discarded bomber jacket against his hip.

Some of the skates are really simple. Others are more fancy. Mostly black ones and white ones, and a few ones with silver sparkles on them in the middle there.

One of the girls working there walks over to help. She takes Loki away from Thor, asking a bunch of questions: shoe size, any problems with his ankles and toes, has he skated before, is he going to try and compete.

She takes some off the shelves, pokes the toe stoppers, takes Loki’s hand and lets him feel the inner part of each pair of skates, talks to him about the blades and the laces and the ankle support.

She comes back with a few that are Loki’s size and lets him try them on.

Thor sits by Loki on the comfy seat, watches Loki try some on and take them off, watches him roll up his jeans so he can see and feel how high the skates go, watches him wiggling his toes around in a comfy pair.

It’s Loki’s knee brushing against the side of his leg as he’s switching between the skates. Loki’s hand on Thor’s shoulder when he stands up in a pair for the first time. Silver flashes in Thor’s eyes from the neon lights sliding up and down all those blades. Loki’s laugh when she’s done teaching him how to tie the laces right and he tries to and fails miserably.

 

 

When Thor drops Loki off at Odin’s, Loki keeps his smile on. He won’t let the cold dread of stepping into the house ruin his happiness.

He puts the jacket on, zips it up just in case Odin’s home. Odin hates seeing Loki dressed like this.

Loki hasn’t told Odin about the figure skating thing. He’ll have to someday, but for now he wants to keep it to himself. It’s his, this joy.

“Something happens, you call me,” Thor says. His voice is rough but there’s worry in his eyes.

Loki nods a little.

Thor tilts his head a bit, searches his eyes.

“Promise me.”

He won’t call, but he nods anyway, just to try and ease Thor’s worry.

Thor’s eyes move over Loki’s face slowly.

They both know Loki’s lying.

“Thank you for these,” Loki says and presses the black shiny box with the black skates inside to his chest, hugging it with both arms.

He rests his chin on top of it and smiles at Thor.

The smile reaches his eyes and it’s beautiful to see.

“You’re welcome,” Thor says softly, brushing his knuckles down Loki’s cheek.

 

* * * 

 

It’s Loki’s first day on the ice.

The cold is overwhelming but it makes him feel alive.

His coach texted him in the morning, told him to bring gloves.

Loki forgot.

And it’s weird because his hands ache cause of the cold but at the same time it feels like he can’t feel them at all.

He fell down twice so far.

“You feel like you’re about to fall over, you drop down to one knee,” his coach said to him.

On both times Loki landed on his side and it hurt. Bad.

His palms feel like they’re on fire. He’s got ice all over his knees sticking to his black leggings.

It’s spinning—really easy to lose your balance during those.

His coach skates over to him, sipping coffee from a steaming to-go cup.

He bends over and shakes the ice off Loki’s leggings.

“You fall over,” he looks up at Loki, silver hair catching the lights, “what do you do?”

Loki smiles cause he knows what’s coming next.

The coach stands up straight and points at him, “you dust yourself off, and try again.”

He looks at Loki and his eyes are soft, “first thing I like to do is teach skaters how to fall. It’s only after you fall that you learn how to get up.”

* * *

 

It’s summer.

Loki’s doing a little _nailed it_ dance on the ice cause he just rocked a scratch spin, when he spots Thor making his way to the rink with a cupcake In his hand.

It has a single burning candle on top.

His coach lets out a sound that’s an _aww_ and an _oh!_  All mixed together.

“You didn’t tell me today’s your birthday!” he says to Loki.

He gives Loki a hug then pushes him towards Thor.

Thor pauses just short of the ice, watches Loki skating towards him, as thin as a candle wick in his black oversized sweater and comfy leggings.

Loki closes his fingers around the railing that’s separating them.

Thor drops his work bag to the floor, holds the cupcake in his hands between their bodies.

“Think it’s safe to bring this here, open flame and all that,” Thor jokes.

Loki bites his lips and smiles big.

“You know the drill,” Thor says, smiling easy, “make a wish.”

Thor hands him the cupcake and Loki holds it in one gloved hand, staring softly at the dancing flame.

Pink paper around it, white frosting, like ice.

Loki closes his eyes.

It’s quiet all around and his wish is singing loudly inside his heart.

He blows out the candle.

Loki hugs Thor’s neck, kisses his cheek.

“What did you wish for?”

Loki skates backwards. He takes the candle out and puts the end that was stuck inside the dough in his mouth, sucking off the frosting, smiling at Thor.

* * *

 

_6 years later_

“Anything else, sir?”

Odin shakes his head and the cashier starts ringing everything up.

It’s cold out. He’s got a thick scarf wrapped all nice and snug around his neck. A wool hat making his thin grey hair stick to his scalp.

He puts his prescription glasses on. Inspects the label on one of the many cans of paint he’s buying.

The house by the lake needs a fresh coat of paint. It looks like the winds left their dirty fingerprints all over it.

A flash of color catches his eye.

He lowers the glasses, looks up at the TV.

The Winter Olympics is on. Figure skating.

One of the contenders walks onto the ice. Slicked back black hair, shimmering with glitter. Bony neck and wrists.

A black catsuit with a silver sequenced pattern on the back: six lines, catching the light, sparkling like ice shavings.

 

* * *


End file.
